


imagine being loved by me

by spacebuck



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (bucky's 22 Steve is 30), (he posts cams/nudes/near nudes on twt for $$), 5'7" bucky rights, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bucky in lingerie, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Collaboration, Explicit Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Sugar Daddy Steve, Twitter AU, cammer bucky barnes, no daddy kink though, no editing we die like men, onlyfans au (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s probably one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not NatashaThe ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen. Steve Rogers is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set tocaptain america’s bitch. Not at all.Hey,the first message says.It’s Steve.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 173
Kudos: 1246





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i saw nabu [@fadefilter's](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) art a while back, got inspired, talked to her about it, we ended up collabing on something i thought would be 5k that turned into this monster, oops.
> 
> Nabu's art is embedded below with more to come, and the link to it on twitter is:   
> https://twitter.com/fadefilter/status/1290245390260817920?s=19
> 
> Go show it some love bc *heart eyes*
> 
> Second chapter will be up tomorrow
> 
> no concrit please this is a fun exercise to get past my writer's block

Bucky makes sure the tripod is in the right place, setting up a couple of test shots and taking a look as he slipped a hand behind himself, retrieving the back of his shorts from where he really didn’t want them to go. They weren’t his favourite, but they completed the look, so he wasn’t about to try and find something else on such short notice. He'll be taking them off after a few shots anyway, to show off what he has on underneath. 

Sure, he had a few photos ready to go, but he  _ needed _ to get this one sorted soon. He’s been putting it off purely because he wasn’t sure his follower base was ready to get up close and personal with his junk, but he doesn’t exactly have an excuse anymore. So, the sooner he takes the photos, the sooner he can toss the pants.

He sets the timer on his phone, flicks it to the camera setting he wants, and heads back to the bed. The lighting is perfect, the gauze netting he uses as a backdrop is swaying gently in the breeze from the open window. He crawls onto the bed, pulls his shorts down a little, and rolls himself onto his back.

The click of the camera starting catches his attention, and he tugs at the shorts again, bunching them a little at the back, pulling the fabric tight across the tops of his thighs, across the bulge of his dick. A quick movement and he’s in position, and Bucky drags his fingers through his hair, artfully musses it until he’s happy. Another click, and he tips his head back, letting his hair do what it wants, hopefully highlighting the sheen of gloss on his lips, the subtle brushes of highlighter down his throat.

With each shutter noise from the camera, Bucky changes his position a little - his arms, his head, his hair, the curl of his legs. Fifteen shots later and he thinks he's done with the shorts, finally. 

He, with extreme prejudice, yanks the shorts off and tosses them towards his hamper, tucked out of sight. The panties underneath are plain, silky, and exactly the same colour, cupping his junk in just the right way. He looks at the bed, changes his mind, and moves the camera on its tripod to the other side of it. The new backdrop - the edge of a drawer, a handful of items left on top that he can't be bothered moving, and Monty, his fern - change the mood of the pictures without much effort.

Happy with the camera, Bucky stretches himself out on his bed again, propping his head on one arm. He palms the clicker again, takes a few more shots as he moves between lying, sitting, and kneeling, then goes and takes one final picture in the mirror, more for himself than anything else.

That done, he looks down at himself, grabs his phone again, and tugs the panties down to free his dick. A tap takes the dick pic in the mirror, then he crops it down to mid-chest, just enough of the ruffled pink crop top showing to add a splash of colour. Bucky flicks it to the seven accounts that make up the dick-pic-brigade and goes looking for another pair of pants.

He yanks on his favourite pair of boxer-briefs - at least they have an excuse for showing more than they hide - and he takes his phone over to his desk to start messing with the photos.

An hour later and it’s ready to post on twitter for the world to see. He hasn’t edited much, never does, just messed around with the colour a bit, amped up the shimmer of makeup on his skin, hid the wispy bits of hair that he can never get control of. It’s not quite the sweet spot time for posting, so he dumps a few of the raw files that he likes onto his onlyfans then drafts the tweet. Once it’s ready, he closes everything on his laptop, gives a sad little glance at his TV, then grabs his calculus textbook, and gets to work.

**

Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s  _ probably _ one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not Natasha

The ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen.  _ Steve Rogers _ is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set to  _ captain america’s bitch _ . Not at all.

_ Hey, _ the first message says.  _ It’s Steve _ .

It makes him snort. Either the guy is genuinely kind of weird, introducing himself when he’s on his verified named account, or the owner of the fake (that it probably is) is  _ really _ trying hard to make him believe the ruse.

The next message makes him freeze, though, eyes wide,

_ Can I send you $1000? _

There’s no innuendos, no requests, no degradation, no unsolicited dick pics. Nothing he’s used to getting from people who want to send him money or just want to get an extra something that they think they’re entitled to. Just the offer, and the amount of money is hitting Bucky right in the gut. It’s enough to pay off his rent for the rest of the month, his textbooks for the semester, and maybe even replace his sneakers if he's careful - not that he's spending a lot of time at the gym right now.

He takes a deep breath and opens paypal in another tab.

_ You can call me Bucky _ , he replies, realising only after he’s sent it that he probably should have used a fake name.  _ If you’re wanting a private show or anything, it’s not going to happen _ . He’s shooting himself in the foot and he knows it.

A few minutes later, the typing bubble comes up, and Bucky’s prepared for the  _ never mind _ , he’s prepared for the  _ you sure? _

He’s not prepared for what Steve (or, catfish) says.  _ Didn’t expect one. No strings, just wanted to give you something. _

Well then.

_ Alright _ , he types,  _ if you’re feeling generous _ . Sends it, then pastes his paypal email - a dummy account that he only uses for this, he at least  _ tries _ to be careful - and sends that too. After a moment, he drags his lips through his teeth a few times to plump them up, licks them for a little bit of shine, then blows a kiss at his phone camera, takes a photo of that and sends that along too.

Then he very deliberately sets his phone down and goes back to his assignment, because it’s due in two days and he’s been putting it off all week.

**

That night, sprawled across his bed as much as a twin bed will let him, Bucky checks his paypal. One thousand dollars sits there, as promised, along with a few hundred that he’s been steadily collecting from his Ko-Fi. He goes into his transactions list to snoop, and yeah, an account with the name S G Rogers had sent the money through.

Bucky’s not sure what to think about that.

Steve’s bi - he’d come out within a few months of being de-iced, set every queer heart aflutter including Bucky’s (especially Bucky’s) - so it’s possible, but Bucky’s - well. He’s  _ Bucky _ . Sure, he’s pretty, plenty of people on twitter tell him so. He’s got nice legs, a soft mouth that plumps up real nicely with a bit of effort, and he knows his angles. But he’s also got a crooked smile from hiding one too many loose teeth playing baseball as a kid, too much baby fat on his cheeks, and he’s always been heavy-handed with the eyeliner. If it’s Steve - actually Steve, not just a really good catfish - then Bucky’s not sure what he’s getting out of it.

He sighs, realises he’s been staring at his ceiling for the past ten minutes, and gives up. Money’s money, as long as it’s clean and not from shady people he’s not going to turn it down. He opens twitter, navigates to the conversation thread with Steve, hovers his thumb over the keyboard before he realises he’s not sure what to say. 

_ Hey _ , he types, then deletes it.  _ Just letting you know that _ , then backspaces that away too. In the end he goes with  _ thank you, that’s really given me some wiggle room this month _ .

He doesn’t get a response immediately - doesn’t expect one, just sets his phone back down and looks back at his books. As much as he needs to, study doesn’t seem appealing, so he picks up his phone again, switching into his dumb idle app and catching up on the notifications from that.

**

The second time he catches Steve’s - or, not-Steve’s - attention is with a picture set he genuinely adores. It’s nothing too raunchy, nowhere near some of the stuff he’s posted, but it’s comfortable, makes him feel pretty, and shows off his legs like nothing else. He takes them on his phone, the pro filter he’s got set up making the cream netting of his tights really stand out. The sweater - a fuzzy white thing with cats printed all over it - is one of the softest things he owns, and he wears it unironically around the house.

The first picture, him perched on the couch with his legs arranged  _ just _ so, isn’t his favourite, but leads into the set well. The next, with a big fake-fur coat and flashes of upper thigh, he likes a lot, but the last one, that’s something special. Face down on the couch, one knee rocked up to leave just enough to the imagination, because his simple white panties don’t exactly hide much if you’re looking at them from the front.

That’s the one he’s pretty sure Steve is referencing when he DM’s Bucky a couple of hours later, the  _ oh my god _ followed by a picture. Twitter blurs the image for him, given that this account doesn’t follow Bucky’s (he knows, he checked), but the blur doesn’t look like anything he doesn’t want to see, so he taps it to clear it.

It’s a picture of a television, one of those fancy-ass ones you only ever see in rich-people-home-walkthroughs on HGTV or something. On it is what looks like a press conference, one that’s just finished. Steve Rogers - the actual Steve Rogers, Captain America - is sitting at a table as people mill around with his phone out on his knee. The camera can’t see what’s on the screen, but Steve’s reaction is front and centre, blush staining every inch of his face, mouth open just a fraction, eyes dark.

There’s another line of text under it.  _ My friend caught the moment I realised I hadn’t closed twitter properly. _

It could be faked. It could be a real picture with a completely different context. Bucky wants to believe though, he really does.  _ What were you thinking about? _ He replies.

_ Thought you didn’t want messages like that from creepy strangers? _

Bucky snorts.  _ You’re not exactly creepy, or a stranger, Mister Rogers. _

There’s a pause, a few minutes with no typing, and Bucky thinks he’s gone too far.He sighs, stretches out on his couch, and is about to switch apps when a message comes through:  _ I was thinking about how pretty you are _ .

Bucky’s heart skips a beat. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but there’s something about it, something behind that statement that he can almost taste. There’s something Steve’s trying to say without words, but he can’t work out what.  _ That all? _ He replies, picking at a loose thread in his tights as he waits.

_ I was thinking about what I’d have done if I’d been alone. _

Bucky swallows. Hard.

He’s not entirely sure he wants to go down this path, not over  _ twitter _ for god’s sake, but he can’t leave it there.  _ What would that be? _

The reply is quick, but as soon as he sees it, he knows why. First, a smiley face - not an emoji, either, but that little colon-parenthesis duo. Then, words, but not the ones he’d been expecting.  _ Goodnight, Bucky _ .

He sighs, taps out,  _ Goodnight _ , then drops the kiss emoji just because he can. The message gets marked as read, but nothing further comes his way. Bucky flops onto his back on the sofa he’s been set up on, uncaring about the show still buzzing away on his laptop. He shouldn’t, he knows that, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining what Steve could have said - what he wanted Steve to say. Teeth dig into his lip as he slides one hand down his body, under the hem of the tights he’s still wearing. It’s all too easy, then to ignore all the reasons why he shouldn’t, and focus on the reasons why he  _ should _ .

A few hours later, he gets an email from paypal - another thousand, from the not-so-mysterious SGR.

**

Bucky doesn’t have a solid posting schedule - he posts when he feels like it, when something takes his fancy, though he tries not to do too many at once. But, with a solid grand sitting in his bank account now, he wants to do something a little more special. He opens his folder of inspo pictures, flicks through them until he finds something that fits his mood, then navigates to his favourite toy store. They do same-day shipping, he’d discovered a few months back, and he takes full advantage of it on days like this.

He grabs the things he knows he wants straight away, then changes section, flicking through the offerings. A soft pink collar catches his eye, a little heart tag dangling from a d-ring, and Bucky’s immediately smitten. It’s cheap - too cheap to be well-made, but enough to get a few photos out of. It goes in his cart before he has a chance to second-guess himself, and he pays.

Four hours later, everything arrives. Bucky signs for the package, hustles back inside, and dumps his laptop back on his desk so he can strip his comforter back.

The toys come out of their packaging to be cleaned, and Bucky leaves the box with the collar set in the middle of the bed as he tosses the packaging away. 

Ten minutes later, he’s ready to go. The camera is set up, waiting for him to start the timer, and he’s got his favourite mesh shirt on, dark enough that it stands out against his skin, holes just big enough to tease. The collar is next, and Bucky carefully does it up at the back of his neck, tests the fit. He was right - it’s pretty cheaply made, but it’s pretty, the gleaming silver buckle standing out against the soft pastel pink. Bucky runs his fingers over the fake leather for a moment, then reaches for the lube. It’s easy, so easy to imagine someone else’s hands holding him open, rubbing lube over his hole then pushing in a finger, two. If those hands are conspicuously calloused, Bucky tries to ignore it. It’s harder than he’d like to pull his hands away once he can take two fingers easily, to grab for the plug he’d specially ordered. He does, though, slicks it up, presses it up and  _ in _ and whines a little at the feeling.

A moment, a breather, then he straightens, takes another deep breath as the plug shifts inside him, and steps into another pair of shorts. They’re looser than the last set, loose enough that his half-chub isn’t painfully restricted, loose enough that he can pull one side up, expose what’s between his cheeks if he wants to.

Which is kind of the point.

Bucky brushes highlighter over his cheekbones, his collarbones, his jaw, checks to make sure his mascara hasn’t left marks on his skin, then grabs the clicker that controls his camera.

The few steps to his bed are enough to make him squirm, but he sets himself up, kneels and lets his knees splay wide as he looks through his lashes at the camera, then presses the button on his clicker.

Once he’s taken a few safer ones, he turns, gets his ass front and centre. A few just like that, the base of the plug just hinting at its existence through the shorts. Then the money shots, Bucky reaching back, tugging one leg of his shorts up, exposing the decorative base of his new plug. 

He gets what he wants, manages to walk somewhat normally back to his camera to check the results. They’re good - real good, and he knows he should get them edited, pick the ones he wants to post, but his hand creeps to the waistband of his shorts, and his skin itches with the need to do  _ something _ .

It’s been a while - in Bucky’s terms at least, so a couple of months - since he’d been getting some on the regular, and it’s been almost as long since he’d gone out trawling the clubs to find someone big enough and dominant enough to fuck him right. The fact that he’s taking these photos, that he’s taking them with someone in mind, it hits him right in the gut, stirs up everything he’s been pushing down because of his school schedule. He hooks his thumb in the waistband of his shorts, tugs them down a little, looks down at himself as he leans his shoulders back. Then he looks at the camera. Then back at himself.

He leaves the camera where it is, crosses back to his bed. Palms the clicker as he kneels again, tugs his shorts back down until it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything under there. He presses the clicker, hears the whir of the shutter, the usual pride and shame mingling as he pulls the fabric down further, takes another picture. He keeps the clicker in hand, sprawls back on the sheets, plants one foot on the bed and arches his back up until the shorts hang loose, the open leg angled just enough that the camera gets a shot of what’s up there, snaps a picture.

By the time he’s got a hand around himself the guilt is forgotten, blown away by the sensation of his hand on himself, of the stretch in his chest as he arches up, by his own hand tangled in the soft curls of his hair. The shorts are gone, discarded only god knows where, and the shirt is shoved up to his armpits, chest on display. 

He’s clicking the clicker almost aimlessly, whenever his fingers clench up, whenever his toes curl, half a dozen times in the middle. It’s not his focus now, hasn’t been for a few minutes - he rocks his hips down, lets the base of the plug catch on his sheets, shifts the plug inside him, whines under his breath. It feels good, the coiling ache in his gut telling, but he drags it out a little longer, breathes as the feel of it dances up his spine, drags over the back of his neck. Bucky shivers, imagining the warm, heavy breath of someone else there. Someone broad, strong, firm but gentle. Someone like -

Bucky cuts himself off, doesn’t let up with his hand, forces his brain in another direction, fills in the gaps with his most recent movie-star crush, but it morphs back to blonde hair, blue eyes, and Bucky doesn’t  _ want _ to keep fighting.

He relaxes into it, tightens his grip a little, drops the clicker he’d forgotten was still in his hand. Drops that now free hand between his legs, nudges the plug a little, draws it out halfway then shoves it back in. It doesn’t take long, after that.

Bucky’s toes curl, his back arches up, he sucks in a breath as lights flicker over the backs of his eyelids. The curling tension in his gut unlocks, sharp and sudden, flooding his nerves with pleasure as his hips jerk. Come hits his stomach, warm and wet, and Bucky slumps as his orgasm finally lets go of him, waves of contentment filling the spaces pleasure leaves behind. 

It takes him a few seconds to regain control of his limbs. When he does, he flops his hand over to where the clicker is, presses the button a few times, then rolls his head until he’s looking down his body at the camera. A click.

Bucky drags his fingers up through his own mess, presses the clicker again, then licks it from his fingers with a final click.

Ten minutes later, he hauls himself to his feet. He grabs a wet wipe from his drawer, cleans himself up, gets rid of the plug and dumps it in the sink to clean later. He tugs on sweatpants, grabs his camera, sprawls back on his bed to go through them.

There are a lot of duds, especially from when he wasn’t paying attention to anything other than his own hand. Bucky expected that, is honestly surprised with how many useable shots he  _ did _ get.

One though, there’s one that he knows in his soul he needs to post. Probably with minimal editing as well - the lighting hits just right, everything he wants his followers to see is visible, and, most importantly, the base of his plug, with the three coloured rings and it’s little star, are front and centre.

And, sure, he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to give away things for free, and no, Steve hadn’t sent him anything else, beyond a  _ Glad I could help _ after Bucky’s last, thankful message, but. But. He has a twitter display name to live up to, and the man himself already has enough free real estate in Bucky’s brain.

He sighs, more at himself than anything else, and picks another couple of viable photos that would go with the first one. He flags them, switches his camera off, and crawls under the covers of his bed for a nap. He’ll edit and post them later.

Bucky checks his emails, a few hours after he posts the photos, the caption “gotta live up to my display name” definitely on the less risky end of the captions he was tossing up between. There’s a few new emails from stores that he quickly deletes, then a few from paypal - one, saying he’d been sent money.

It’s not an uncommon occurrence, really. He has a lot of people opening their wallets, but it’s usually to the tune of a ko-fi donation, maybe ten or twenty dollars if he’s lucky. He’s not sure what pulls him to open the email rather than deleting it and checking paypal itself later, but he does.

And, sitting there in bold type,  _ S G Rogers has sent you $4000 _ .

His jaw drops, his hands shake. He’s - he’s not new to this, not by a long shot. And sure, he’d expected something - hell, he’d planned on it almost, given the Avengers were in town still. But -  _ four thousand dollars _ .

Before he can think, he’s opening twitter, sending the Steve Rogers account a message that contains about thirty question marks. He doesn’t expect a response, not quickly at least, but a few minutes later one pings through.

_ Sorry, was that out of line? _

_ I’m not complaining _ , he types back, has to correct far too many typos because of his trembling hands.  _ Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t an accident? Because that’s a lot of money. _

_ It wasn’t an accident _ , is the almost immediate reply.  _ What can I say, your pics spoke to me _ .

Bucky can’t help it - when given an opening with a man like this one, he’s going to take it.  _ What can I say, I’m a talker, _ he replies, then flicks through his gallery, finds the one picture that he’d  _ known _ he’d send to Steve if given the chance. The shorts he’d been wearing had ended up under the curve of his ass, and his fingers frame the shield plug neatly, the flash from his camera catching on the metal stem of the plug. He selects it, hesitates, then sends it anyway. If it’s too far, well, he got six thousand dollars out of it (though a part of him is still freaking out over that number. Six  _ thousand _ .)

The reply is garbled, like it could have been words but only gives the feeling of them instead. It’s immediately followed by  _ holy shit _ .

_ Is that a good ‘holy shit’ or a bad one? _ Bucky pushes, realises he’s borderline flirting, doesn’t care. Steve - and, he knows deep down, that yeah it probably is the real Steve - is replying, he hasn’t blocked Bucky in disgust, he’s - interested? At least to some degree.

The typing bubble appears, then disappears, then reappears. Then,  _ Good, definitely good _ .

_ I want- _ \- Bucky starts, before deleting it, trying again with  _ I think-- _ before backspace once more. In the end he settles on  _ Glad to hear it _ before pushing his luck a little more.  _ You're an artist, right? What colour do you think I should wear next? I want to branch out a little more and r/w/b is a little tacky ;)  _

The little check mark turns blue, then nothing happens for a long while. Bucky sighs, sets his phone down and pulls up Netflix on his laptop instead. The little chime twenty minutes later makes him jump, deep in the back end of an episode of his comfort show. When he checks it, he's both surprised and yet not to find a message from Steve.  _ Sorry _ , it reads,  _ had to dodge some questions from my nosey best friend _ . 

_ Sorry, didn't realise you weren't alone,  _ Bucky replies even though there's another typing bubble on Steve's side of the screen. 

The bubble disappears, and then  _ would that have stopped you from doing it?  _ Appears, before, too quick to be anything but pasted in,  _ can I send you something or is that a no-go? _

Bucky hesitates. It's not that he doesn't allow it - he's got a PO Box for a reason - but it feels different this time. Like there's more at play than just a fan wanting a picture or two of their own specific wish-fulfillment fantasy. Even so, he can’t find it in himself to say no - and really, he doesn’t want to.  _ Yeah, I’d like that. Something you want to see me in? _

Bucky really should have learned by now to not expect anything when it comes to messaging Steve. His motivations aren’t what Bucky’s used to, his methods aren’t what he’s used to, and it’s disconcerting how quickly Steve can knock him off his game with one well-placed sentence. Today, that sentence is  _ No, just want to get you something nice. Anything you don’t like? _

Bucky stares at his phone for far too long.  _ I like most things _ , he replies eventually.  _ But everyone always sends me lace - something different would be nice _ .

A typing bubble, then - _no lace, got it._ _Where do you want it to go?_

Bucky drops his PO box address in, doesn’t even think twice until he gets another message -  _ NYC huh? Same. Won’t take long to get to you _ .

Bucky’s not sure how to respond for a second, then another message pops up.  _ The parcel, I mean. That probably sounded creepy, sorry _ .

He snorts, complicated emotions stabilising into fondness - which is just as dangerous as some of the other options, really.

**

They talk a few times between them and Bucky getting the message that something’s arrived in his PO box. Once about another picture set, and another just because Bucky was bored and reaching out - he hadn’t expected much, that time, but Steve’s funny, quick off the mark, and snarky as hell when the conversation is more in what Bucky assumes is his comfort zone. That fondness sits somewhere under his breastbone whenever he sees a message notification from the man, and Bucky’s not sure what to do about it. 

It means that when Bucky gets the notification that something’s been delivered, he doesn’t hesitate to screencap it, crop his email address out, and send it to steve with approximately seven exclamation marks, and the eyes emoji. Unfortunately he’s still in class, so he locks his phone without waiting for a response and goes back to what he  _ should _ be doing, even though his mind is as far away from statistical analysis as possible.

It’s a long twenty minutes until he can escape, and he’s lucky that he doesn’t have any more classes that day - the Professor for his usual 3pm class had emailed them all that morning to say he’d had to run out of town for a wedding he’d forgotten about.

Bucky almost runs to the lockboxes, and the box - bigger than he’d expected, too - tempts him the whole way home.

As soon as the door locks behind him, he takes the three steps across his small apartment and falls back onto the sofa. Takes a picture, him holding the box next to his face, blowing a kiss, and sends it to Steve, before cutting his way through the tape.

There’s tissue paper - he assumes from the store, can’t imagine Steve sitting there folding it carefully into the cardboard - that he pulls out, then under his hands is just - silk. He unfolds it, something smaller falls out into his lap that he ignores for the moment. The thing in his hands turns out to be a long dressing gown in the prettiest blue he’s ever set his eyes on. There’s no tag - he can picture Steve carefully pulling apart the piles of silk and clipping them away, and it makes something in his chest clench up. It’s hard to resist putting it on immediately, but he does, looks at the thing that’s fallen into his lap. It’s the same colour - part of a set, must be, and just as soft in his hands. A shake, and it unfolds into a babydoll, shorter than he’s ever seen one in person. He’s in love immediately, smoothing it with his thumbs before he stands, strips down. He kicks his jeans to the side, tosses his shirt somewhere, and after a second, steps out of his underwear too. The silk glides over his skin, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help but laugh as he realises how short the babydoll actually is. It barely grazes the bottom of his ass, and the slits up the sides show off his thighs right to the top if he tips his hips right.

There’s no full-length mirror in his tiny living room, so he grabs the gown , drapes it over his shoulders just to feel the way it sways against his legs.

When he reaches the mirror in his bedroom though, his jaw drops. The silk is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever worn, which is saying something considering his rather extensive collection. It clings to the curves he has and flatters the ones he doesn’t, just translucent enough to give away flashes of muscle, or the edge of a nipple. He turns, checks the back, then pulls the gown on properly, stopping only to grab one more thing before running back through his apartment and all but diving for his phone.

He carefully checks the remainder of the packaging, finds a note that’s just a wonky heart in what looks like pencil, and Steve’s initials. It’s cute, incredibly so, and he carefully sets it on his bare thigh before dumping the packaging on the floor by his clothes.

He picks up the collar he’d grabbed on the way past, carefully fastens it around his neck again - it’s black, not blue, held together with a metal heart in the front, but it stands out the way he wants it to, draws the eyes up time and time again.

It takes a second to arrange his limbs, cover one thigh with the robe and let the babydoll creep up on the other side until it’s clear there’s nothing underneath, the little bit of note paper clearly visible on his bare thigh, but when he’s happy he takes a few pictures just for Steve. He takes a few more without the note paper, just in case he decides to share them further, then opens twitter again.

There’s two messages from Steve, five minutes apart. The first is just  _ it arrived! _ , which is followed up by  _ I hope I didn’t go too far _ .

Bucky can’t have him doubting himself, not over  _ this _ . He sends his favourite picture of the set, then switches to his camera again. It’s a matter of seconds to start recording a video, despite the voice in the back of his head reminding him he’d never done this for anyone else.

“Steve,” he says, because he wants to hear the man’s name in his own voice. “Steve, it’s beautiful!” he smooths one hand down the front of the slip, smiles without realising it. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.” He loses steam, shifts his legs just to feel the slide of silk. He licks his lips, drops his voice a little - not down into  _ hey stud _ territory, but slipping into something a little more honest. “Thank you, really. I’d never have been able to get something like this by myself, so you’ve just made my day.”

He stops recording, and without rewatching it, without giving himself time to doubt himself, he sends it to Steve - just as the tick under the picture turns blue.

There’s nothing for a second, and then a message comes through that’s just one word -  _ Buck _ .

Then -  _ it looks even better than I expected - you make it look incredible _ .

The typing bubble appears and disappears a few times, so Bucky sets his phone down to give Steve time to work out what he wants to say. He’s just pulled his laptop out of his backpack when his phone buzzes, and it’s only out of respect for what he’s wearing that he doesn’t go diving across the couch for it.

When he opens his messages again, he’s not expecting to see a video in return - but one’s there waiting for him, thumbnail blurred out. He takes a breath, taps it.

What’s immediately visible is approximately one third of a face - part of a forehead, one eye, the bridge of a nose, the edge of a cheekbone. Even with that, it's obvious who it is - any thoughts of a really dedicated catfish disappearing with the first word in that oh-so-familiar voice. “Bucky, sweetheart,” Steve says, and it hits him in the gut. Bucky wants to hear him say it again, and again, and again. “I’m just glad you like it, it’s nothing you don’t deserve. You look really good.” There’s a hitch in his voice then, and Bucky realises at that moment how dark the one eye he can see is, instead of the usual deep blue. The video cuts a second later, and Bucky watches it twice more before he can even think about replying. What comes out is  _ Can I have your number? _ and he hits send before he can regret asking.

There’s no response for just long enough that something ugly starts to twist in his gut. Then, the typing bubble appears. Disappears. A second later, a handful of digits appear on his screen.

It’s saved in a matter of seconds, then he’s typing out a message to his newest contact.  _ Hey _ , he types, because he can’t think of anything better,  _ it’s Bucky _ . He follows it up with the peach emoji.

He only has to wait thirty seconds for a reply, the  _ hi Bucky it’s Steve :) _ far too endearing for comfort. Even as his stomach flutters and his heart skips a beat, Bucky’s wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into this time.

**

They text near-constantly for a few weeks. It becomes second-nature to update Steve about the things in his life, from the new cafe he’s tried to the cat in the bodega down the street. Steve, for his part, responds with pictures of  _ his _ life - the corner of an art canvas, the Black Widow in line ahead of him in line for ice cream. It’s - it’s sweet, is what it is, the way Steve’s letting him into his life. He still doesn’t know much about the man’s day to day, but the intimacy of knowing Steve’s favourite ice cream flavour (boysenberry, because he’s a real boyscout) or the bodywash he uses (it’s a three-in-one, and Bucky has Plans with a capital P to get rid of it as soon as possible) is almost better.

Bucky gets one of those little insights while he’s in class, checking his phone when there’s a pause in his Professor’s presentation. It’s a picture first, then a text to follow - Steve’s in uniform, sitting in what looks like a hospital cafeteria. Something in Bucky’s chest tightens, and he sucks in a breath, quickly scrolling down to see what Steve had typed. The feeling in his chest is fear, he realises a second later, fear  _ for _ Steve and he’s not entirely sure when that happened.

_ The kids are a lot _ , the message from Steve says, and Bucky lets his breath out slowly. Kids - this must be one of Steve’s frequent visits of the children’s wards,.  _ But they’re a lot of fun, too _ reads the rest of the message.

_ Nearly gave me a heart attack _ , Bucky replies,  _ maybe start with the words before sending someone a pic of you in hospital _ .

The reply is immediate, phone buzzing in his hand as he looks back up at the slides he’s supposed to be paying attention to. He glances down.  _ Sorry baby _ Steve’s said, and it’s sad how he can hear Steve’s voice in his ear saying that. They haven’t sent videos since that first time, but Bucky’s heard enough interviews, has spent long enough imagining the man saying all sorts of nasty things, that he can hear it clear as day.  _ How can I make it up to you? _

That’s an invitation if ever Bucky’s heard one.  _ I’m in class _ , he types out carefully under the desk.  _ But later, when we’re both free… can I call you? _

He keeps his phone in his hand long enough to see Steve’s  _ yeah, absolutely honey _ before he goes back to paying attention like he should be.

Two hours later he’s back in his apartment. He checks the clock to be sure it’s after five - well after when Steve said he’d be home, then sends the man a text -  _ is now good? _

A minute later, his phone rings - a video call, too.

Bucky smooths his hair back, tugs his shirt back into place from where it’s twisted against the couch, answers the call with a swipe of his thumb. He says, "Hey," out of habit, then stumbles to a stop as he takes Steve in.

The compression shirt must be what he wears under the suit, but Bucky can pretend that the way the shirt highlights Steve's body is all for him. He's pretty sure his brain's turned to mush, and he knows it's permanent as Steve says, "Hi sweetheart," in that low rumble of his. "something on your mind?" 

Bucky shakes his head, mostly honest. "Just wanted to talk to you for real," he murmured, though he doubted Steve would notice any trouble working his words out. "What happened at the hospital?"

He's genuinely interested, but it's also an easy deflection, pushing the call past the awkward what-now that always happens when people talk on the phone for the first time. Steve lights up, eyes bright, as he starts talking about the kids he was visiting, and Bucky tucks his chin into his hand, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping across his face. 

After about ten minutes, Steve trails off, smiles. "Buck," he says, and it's full of the fondness Bucky can feel in his chest.

"You really like working with kids, huh?" Bucky says for lack of anything better.

Steve's nodding before he even finishes. "Kids are great - and I spent a lot of time sick. I know what these kids are going through as much as any adult does." he settles back - he's on a couch, the edges of a living room visible around his head whenever he moves. "But, enough of me talking," he continues as if Bucky's not hanging on his every word, smitten to hell and back. "What did you learn today?" As much as there's something he wants to say, he keeps it to himself, starts talking about his classes, his professors. Steve's - he's snarky in a way Bucky hadn't expected, quick off the mark with comments and jokes that have Bucky snickering.

He’s so smitten that he doesn’t even think to try and start anything, doesn’t offer to show Steve his wardrobe, or his favourite outfit like he’d been planning. By the time Steve’s murmuring “Goodnight sweetheart, sleep well,” he’s gone, deep into his crush and sinking by the second.

“Goodnight,” he says, soft, and looks up at the camera through his lashes. He doesn’t think he imagines the way Steve’s breath hitches, but if the man wants to say anything about it, he doesn’t - just waves at the camera like the dork he is, then ends the call.

It’s at that point Bucky realises what’s happening, realises the extent to which his crush has bloomed into that teenage love that seemed so overwhelming back in junior year. Honestly, it feels overwhelming even now, at 22. He’s not sure he likes it - but he still definitely likes Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took longer than expected, but ended up BEING longer than expected, so. oops.  
> third chapter is just an epilogue that i'll post later today - it's ready to go.
> 
> Art once again is by Nabu, go give her some love on twitter!!

The next day, Bucky gets a message saying that something’s arrived in his PO box. He can guess who it is - none of the other people that have sent him things have repeated - but he doesn’t make any assumptions, just picks it up on the way home. The lady that mans the desk gives him a smile, the friendliest she’s ever been to him. “That young man of yours is a keeper,” she says, and he flounders for a bit before he realises who she’s talking about. “Congratulations,” she adds, and that really does bring him screeching to a stop.

“Excuse me?” He says as he unlocks his box, catches a whiff of fried sugar. “What the…?” he says out loud.

“Your partner came past, said it was your anniversary,” she says, and he realises what Steve’s done.

He smiles over at her, pulls the bag out of his box, pulls it open. “Oh - yeah, thank you,” he says, pulling a still-warm donut out of the bag and biting into it as sugar scatters everywhere. “He’s a sweetheart.”

He makes small talk as he packs the donut bag into his backpack, then makes his excuses and leaves, pulling out his phone as he does. He opens a text to Steve on autopilot, then stares at it for a second before typing,  _ did you lie to the postal lady to fulfill my midday sugar demands? _

The reply is quick -  _ you posted it with six ellipsis after it, so it must have been dire _

There's nothing he can really say to that, mostly because he goes all gooey inside. So, he sends three of the sparkle-hearts and changes the subject, like any millennial faced with genuine kindness from a potential romantic interest. 

_ I was thinking we could play a game,  _ he types as he finishes off the donut in his hand, wipes the clinging sugar-crystals off on his pant leg.  _ I send you a picture, then you send one back.  _

_ Do the pictures have to be of anything in particular? _

Bucky laughs to himself, freely admitting to himself the true purpose of the game, even if he'd never admit it to Steve. His phone is in dire need of a new wallpaper, and Bucky knows exactly what he wants to use. Regardless of that, he sends back,  _ No, can be anything _ , and follows it up with a picture he pauses to take, of a bee settling on the fence he's walking past.  _ See? _

The typing bubble appears, disappears, and appears again. Then a photo comes through of a sad-looking plant in a terracotta vase, held in a big hand.  _ Does she have a name?? _ Before sending through a picture of the shop he’s walking past.

_ You’re supposed to name plants?  _ Is the reply, followed by a picture out a window, across a park that Bucky knows damn well isn’t in Manhattan.

Bucky sends a picture of another storefront, this time a highly reflective one. He keeps his face hidden by his phone, sticks his ass out, shoots a peace sign at the reflection before snapping the picture. He sends that, then types  _ only if you love them,  _ before following it up with  _ you know the internet thinks you all live in stark tower _ .

The next photo from Steve is of long legs stretched out in front of a chair, crossed at the ankle, clad in what looks like super-soft grey sweatpants. Bucky’s eyebrows go up, and he’s already taken a reply picture - a selfie with a fountain in the background, winking at the camera - when the text reply comes through.  _ What should I name her?  _ Followed by  _ if I lived in the tower someone would be dead - we’re good friends, terrible roommates _ .

Bucky saves that picture - he’s only human after all - then sends his prepared one.  _ So, where is home? Lemme guess, Brooklyn? _ He sends back,  _ and call the plant alberta _ .

The next reply, there’s no picture, just text, and Bucky tries not to be disappointed.  _ Yeah, rent a place in Williamsburg - the agent was a history buff, insisted I be over here. Didn’t have the heart to tell her no.  _ Thyen, finally, a picture - but it’s of the plant in it’s pot, sitting on a shelf in what looks like a bathroom.  _ Alberta it is _ .

Bucky pulls out a photo that has Monty in the background, crops it, and sends it with  _ this is Monty _ , then,  _ don’t you like Brooklyn? _ He unlocks the front door to his building and hip-bumps his way through so he doesn’t have to put his phone away. He clatters up the stairs as he waits for Steve to reply, bumping his screen every so often so that it doesn’t go to sleep.

The response comes when he’s tugging his coat off, leaving his shoes tucked in the corner of the tiny entranceway. It makes Bucky ache a little -  _ too many memories _ \- but it’s quickly followed by,  _ and too many hipsters _ . There’s no photo, even after Bucky waits a few seconds, so he acts as if Steve’s sent one - he changes into his current pyjama set, fluffs up his hair, licks his lips. It’s a set from Steve, too, new enough that only Steve has seen pictures of him in it. He flops face-first on his bed, crawls halfway up and props his chin on his hand. His phone’s camera is powerful enough that he can zoom into the mirror a few steps away. He takes a photo, sends it to Steve, then takes a few more because it’s never a bad time to add another photoset to the too-long list of ones he already has planned.

_ Where would you like to be living? _ He sends a few seconds after, even though Steve’s already typing a response. 

_ Those look great on you _ is the text that comes through first, then a moment later, an image file. Even though the entire purpose of the game was to receive something like it, Bucky’s not expecting the file that comes through.

Steve’s …  _ naked _ . Or, close to - enough that by the time the picture halts, partway down an enticing treasure trail, there’s still no fabric in sight. He’s got an arm across his middle, phone in front of his face like he’s shy, but the cocked hip and the way his bicep is clearly being flexed is enough to dispel that idea. His beard looks like he’s spent a few minutes on it, smoothing it down, and so does his hair - slightly darker than their usual honey-blond like he’s put product in it, just to send to Bucky. 

“Guh,” he says eloquently, the word-sound escaping without conscious thought. It takes a few seconds for him to work out how to make any words more coherent than that, but when he does, he types back  _ some warning next time pls??? You look so good  _ followed by the heart eyes emoji, the red-faced sweating emoji, and the wide-eyed blushing emoji. He sees then that Steve’s replied to his question about housing, but he can’t focus enough to read it - just hits the button to call instead.

It rings for a solid thirty seconds, and at about the fifteen-second mark, Bucky starts to wonder if he’s made a mistake. He’s about to cancel the call, apologise, and retreat to his showerbox when the call connects, and there’s a soft hum at the other end of the line. “Looking for something, Buck?”

Bucky makes a noise low in his throat before he can help it, and Steve laughs low in his ear. “That’s not fair,” he says and it’s softer than expected, breathier - it’s obvious what he’s thinking, just from those three words. “You sending me a picture like that.”

“You send plenty like it,’ Steve retorts, and Bucky can hear him moving - walking, probably. “How is this any different?”

Bucky blinks, says, “Because-” before stopping. “Because I-”

“Hmm,” Steve says, and Bucky shuts up, because he can take a hint. “You gonna ask for what you want, or are you gonna keep digging the hole you’re in?”

It’s not mean, that’s the thing - it could be, so easily, but it’s not, it hits just on the right side of the line in the sand, and Bucky’s breath catches, hand shakes where it’s holding his phone. “I want you,” he says after a long silence, long enough that it had sounded like Steve was going to break it at least once before changing his mind. 

“Do you?” Steve says, and there’s a sound like he’s sitting down on something soft - the scrape of fabric, then the soft creak of something wooden taking weight. 

Bucky agrees with a little hum, not trusting his words entirely. Steve hums back, except his is considering, like he’s got a buffet in front of him and he’s trying to work out where to start. “You still got that outfit on?” Steve says eventually, and Bucky nods, has to clear his throat before answering verbally.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Steve says, and it sends a thrill through him, shivering up his spine. “You somewhere comfortable?”

Bucky’s struck for a second with the fact that they’re actually going to do this - even though it’s ‘just’ over the phone. He stretches out on his bed, still face down, and shifts his legs a little until the crease in his comforter isn’t digging into his skin. “Uh huh, still on my bed,” he says.

“On your front or on your back?”

“On my front, like in the picture.”

Steve hums again, then says, “Roll over for me.” Without waiting for Bucky to do so, he adds, “Look down, tell me what you see.”

Bucky rolls onto his back, wiggles up until he can grab his pillow and tuck it under his head. “I’m on my back,” he says, “And I see myself - my shirt is all pulled up from moving, my shorts are tight around my thighs. I still have socks on,” he pauses, licks his lips, skirts around what he thinks Steve is really asking about. “I have goosebumps on my arms, but it’s not cold.”

“Spread your legs a little,” Steve says, and Bucky does without hesitation. “Do you want me to tell you what I’d do if I were there? Or do you wanna guess?”

Bucky grins as he tips his head back, stares up at the ceiling. “Tell me.”

Steve snorts, then says, “Okay, sure, but there’s a catch. You have to follow along with your hands.” Bucky bites his lip, drags it through his teeth.

“Okay,” he says when it’s obvious Steve’s waiting for a response. He wiggles a bit, then sets his phone down next to his ear on the pillow, speakerphone turned on, at Steve’s prompt.

“You know what I wanted the first time I saw one of your pictures?” Steve asks, voice low. “I wanted to get my hands on that little waist of yours, get my head between your legs, and never come back up for air.”

Bucky’s breath catches. “Go on,” Steve says, “Where does your hand need to go?”

Bucky whimpers, and obeys.

He hangs up an hour later, a wreck, but with a promise from Steve, and a date - a  _ real _ date - with Steve Rogers, object of his affections.

**

When Bucky arrives at the restaurant, it’s fancier than he expected - with a pair of valets looking at him sideways from their podium, to a crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer as he walks in. The hostess looks up at him, then goes back to typing at her computer. He walks forward, gets another look, and it’s only when he clears his throat that he gets her full attention. “Hi,” he says, “My partner made a reservation, under the name  _ Rogers _ ?”

The woman’s entire demeanor changes with that one sentence - she straightens, pastes a smile on her face, and turns to face him. “Rogers? He’s just arrived, let me show you up.”

Bucky steps back as she comes around the desk, tucks his hands in his pockets as he follows her through the restaurant. There’s almost no one there, but she still walks him all the way to the back, then up a staircase to the second floor. There’s only a handful of tables here, all empty but one, and Bucky would recognise the set of those shoulders, and the profile view of that jawline anywhere. He keeps his excitement down though, follows the woman towards the table. He nods his thanks when she gestures, and waits for her to disappear before looking back at the table, and Steve.

Deep blue eyes are already on him, tracing his body up and down before meeting his gaze. Steve smiles, stands, and yeah he knew how tall Steve was on paper, but he can’t help but feel tiny now, in front of him. Steve steps forward, and before Bucky can say anything he’s being pulled into a hug, strong arms curled around his waist. He leans in, plants his hands on Steve’s chest, says, “Hi,” and before he can lose his nerve he stretches up, presses a kiss to what was supposed to be Steve’s cheek but ends up being the edge of his jaw, the hair soft under his lips. Steve makes a noise deep in his chest that Bucky feels more than hears, then Steve’s dropping a kiss on his nose in a way that should really feel patronising, but somehow doesn’t.

“Hi, Buck,” Steve says, “It’s good to see you for real.”

It makes him smile, the sincerity in Steve’s voice, and he’s considering going in for a real kiss when Steve steps back, keeps one hand on Bucky’s hip. “Come sit down - I’ve asked them to bring out some water with the menus.” Bucky can’t say no to him, so he goes, takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of the chair Steve pulls out for him, then sits.

Once Steve sits down, he reaches a hand out, catches the sleeve of Bucky’s shirt between his fingers and rubs a little. “You look good in silk,” he says with a smile as he lets go, though there’s a flicker of something more in his eyes that Bucky wants to chase. He’s beautiful in person, larger than life and so damned warm, and Bucky finds himself leaning forward almost without thinking.

“Thank you,” he says, “Someone very nice bought it for me a while back, thought I’d wear it to see him.” Steve’s smile widens, and when Bucky tips his hand over, Steve covers it with his own, laces their fingers together. Their menus come, and Bucky reluctantly pulls his hand back to go through the menu. He picks out what he wants, sets the menu aside, then looks up to see Steve’s hand still there, open and inviting - Bucky takes it again, and Steve smiles down at his menu.

They talk. Steve’s so easy to get along with, just as quick on his feet verbally as he is over text, and the quiet intimacy of Steve offering him a bite of his steak, or the way he laughs as Bucky slides a tomato onto Steve’s plate while no one else is looking, is enough to set something alight in Bucky’s gut. He wants more of this, as often as he can get it - he wants  _ Steve _ , and in more ways than he had expected to at the start of all of this. The food is good, too, and not the usual tiny portions fancy restaurants give to keep their patrons ordering more.

Bucky’s just setting his fork down on his now-empty plate when Steve’s foot nudges his under the table. “Come get ice cream with me,” he says, and Bucky’s helpless to resist. He can’t even protest Steve paying the bill - Steve must have given his card over when he arrived because he collects it on the way out with one hand resting at the small of Bucky’s back, warm even through the thick coat he’s put back on. He knows it would have only been a token protest, anyway, and he thinks Steve does too.

“I pick the next date,” he says as they walk out into the cool spring air, Steve’s arm sliding around to hold his waist, “and I pay.” Sure, he’s perfectly happy for Steve to buy him things and send him money - but if whatever-this-is is going to work, Steve needs to respect him as much as he likes him.

“Sure, honey,” is the response, not a note of condescension in his voice. Then, “This is a date, then?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, slowing to a stop in the middle of the Street. Steve stops with him, hand not budging, and raises an eyebrow. Bucky raises one back. “Are you fishing for something?” He says, and Steve grins, pulls him in close, and kisses the top of his head.

“It’s just nice to know for sure,” he says softly, quiet enough that Bucky’s not sure if he was meant to hear it. He lifts his head, rises up on his toes, and kisses Steve’s cheek - actually hitting his target this time - before saying firmly, “It’s a date.”

Steve’s smile grows, and when he tugs Bucky back into walking, he’s a little closer, side pressed firmly against Bucky’s. It’s not super busy out, being a Sunday, but they still get the odd stare, right up until Steve pulls Bucky into a tiny ice cream parlour - one Bucky’s walked past many times before, but never gone inside. The woman behind a counter is an older woman, and barely blinks when Steve gives her a full-wattage smile.

“Steven,” she says, almost scolding, “It’s been too long. Do you want the next on the list?”

As Steve nods, Bucky shifts a little on his feet, and her attention turns to him, unwavering in its intensity. “I haven’t seen you before - do you want to try a popular flavour, or something a bit different?” When he looks up at Steve, Steve’s studying the flavour list intently, so he looks back at the woman - Mabel, according to her nametag - and says, “Something different?”

Steve grins, taps the glass in front of a flavour, and says, “Try this one, Buck.” He takes a step to get to the counter, sees the name, and has to raise his eyebrows.

“Better than sex? Now I have to,” he says as he skims the ingredients list, before nodding. When Mabel hands him his cone, his mouth drops - it’s not just the ice cream, but crumbled bits of cookie and shards of chocolate, all drizzled with a sauce that’s almost dripping onto his fingers. He catches it with his tongue, glances over to see Steve with a similar cone - oranges and reds instead of the black and white mix of his own.

By the time Steve’s paid, Bucky’s a few licks in and already reconsidering his priorities list - he’s sure sex with  _ Steve _ would top any list, given their few instances of phone sex are some of the best he’s had full-stop, but regular sex with regular people? The ice cream probably wins. Steve grabs his hand, tows him towards the door with a wave to Mabel, and leads the way to a tiny park nearby. When Steve plops down on a bench, Bucky goes to sit beside him, right until Steve spreads his legs and holds out a hand. He’s not going to say no to what’s being offered - he steps between Steve’s spread legs, takes Steve’s hand, and settles on one thick thigh as Steve’s arm finds its way around his waist again. They’re about even, now, and Steve presses a kiss to his cheek before offering him a taste of his ice cream. Bucky reciprocates, and Steve’s eyes go dark for a moment before he wipes a smudge of ice cream off Bucky’s chin, licks his thumb clean.

“I’m eating,” Bucky complains, but shifts his legs a little wider, presses his knee to Steve’s inner thigh in silent invitation. The hand on his waist drops from there to his thigh, Steve’s arm still firmly braced behind his back, and Bucky leans his shoulder against Steve’s. Bucky licks his ice cream again, feels more than hears Steve’s breath catch, then there’s a nose brushing over his cheek, the cool touch of lips at the corner of his mouth. It’s a request as much as it is a sweetness in its own right, and Bucky can’t resist any longer, tips his head and meets that request with a kiss. It’s soft, cool from the ice cream, and Bucky instantly wants more. When Steve pulls back a little, Bucky chases, and Steve gives him a chaste kiss before pulling back again.

“I’m eating,” Steve says, takes a bite of his ice cream in a way that sends a shiver down Bucky’s spine, and not in a good way. He catches the dribbles of melted ice cream threatening his shirt, then methodically works his way through the rest of the ice cream before Steve can try anything else to distract him. Even so, Steve finishes first, wipes his hand on his own pants, then wraps his cold hand around Bucky’s knee.

“Hey,” Bucky says around the shards of his cone, trying to be sharp and not succeeding in the slightest when Steve smiles at him.

“Hey,” Steve says back, warm, and smiles wider when Bucky shoves the rest of his cone in his mouth, crunching through it as quickly as he can get away with. As soon as he’s dusted off his hands, Steve’s got one palm on his cheek and is pulling him into a kiss. Bucky sags into it, wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and parts his lips at the nudge of Steve’s tongue. Steve keeps it sweet though, suited for their location, and Bucky can’t help the noise that escapes him. It’s sweet, it’s nice, it’s just what he wanted, except now that he has it it just leaves him wanting more. He pulls away to take a breath, leaving his nose pressed against Steve’s, and as soon as he’s got the air to say it, he says, “Come home with me?”

Steve kisses him again, thumb resting in the divot of Bucky’s shin in a possessive gesture that sends a thrill through him almost as much as Steve’s tongue against his does. “If you want me to,” Steve says against his mouth, “Then absolutely. But we don’t have to if you don’t really want to.”

Bucky snorts, inelegant, even though he’s touched by the fact that Steve’s keeping things open and clear between them. He slides his hand off Steve’s shoulder, down Steve’s chest to cop a feel as obviously as he possibly can. “I want to, trust me,” he says. “There’s not much I want more right now.” Steve’s laugh is full of promise, but he stays where he is, and it takes Bucky a few moments to realise Steve’s taking his cues from  _ him _ . So, he stands, holds out his hands to pull Steve to his feet, doesn’t step back when Steve rises so he’s right up in Steve’s space again. “Come on,” he says, keeping hold of one of Steve’s hands as he turns, tugs until Steve’s walking beside him again.

The walk to the subway is quick, and Bucky decides to play it cool and sit beside Steve on the somewhat-full train, rather than retaking his spot on Steve’s lap. He tells Steve the stop name then tucks his face into Steve’s shoulder, making it as clear as possible that they’re together without doing something mildly inappropriate for a train journey and kissing Steve again.

Steve tugs him to his feet before the stop name is even called, steadying him with a hand around his waist as they slowly rock to a halt and the doors rattle open. Steve leads the way off, then hesitates just long enough that Bucky takes the lead, pulling him through the Sunday-evening crowd towards the nearest flight of stairs.

Once they’re back in the evening air, Bucky nudges himself closer, not-quite shivering but not above leeching some heat from Steve as they walk. Steve gives him a fond smile when he notices, nudging Bucky around people as they pick up their conversation from the train ride once more.

A bolt of nervousness hits Bucky as his building comes into sight - not, for once, questioning what he was doing, but more because he’s about to have  _ Steve Rogers _ in his shithole of an apartment, and he can’t remember if he shoved all of the rejected outfits back into his cupboard.

Despite that, he looks up at Steve, smiles, and the warmth in his gut is back when Steve smiles back at him. “This yours?” Steve says, and Bucky nods, leads the way up the handful of steps to the front door.

“I’m on two,” he says as he unlocks the door, pulls Steve in and locks it after them. “It’s barely made for one person, but I’m not here all that much with classes and stuff, so it works out.” Steve snorts out a laugh at his dumb joke, so he fights a grin, heads for the stairs.

When he reaches his front door, switches keys on his keyring, and goes to unlock his door, Steve steps up close behind him and wraps big arms around his waist. “Hi,” Steve murmurs against his ear, before pressing a kiss to the space just behind it. Bucky shivers, can’t help the reaction, and feels Steve’s smile against his skin. “I want you to know you can kick me out whenever. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean we have to do anything.”

Bucky gets his key in the lock, unclicks it, then turns, grabs the handle with one hand as he hooks his fingers in Steve’s belt loops and tugs. “I appreciate it,” he says honestly as their hips meet. “But I’ve been thinking about sitting on your dick since well before you messaged me that first time, and I’m not about to change my mind now.” As Steve’s hands land on his hips, Bucky tips his head up to meet the other man’s gaze. “That doesn’t mean you have to stay either - you can change your mind or back out whenever you want.”

Steve leans forward, using their bulk to open Bucky’s door as Bucky twists the knob. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry,” he murmurs, before pressing his mouth back to Bucky’s. This time it’s pushy from the start, Steve biting at his lower lip and taking over as soon as Bucky’s lips part on a gasp. It’s hot, heady, exactly what Bucky wants, and he closes the door with a hand over Steve’s shoulder then braces himself, jumps.

Steve’s hands land on his ass as he gets his legs around Steve’s waist, and he pulls away from the kiss just long enough to lean over and lock the door behind them. Steve braces one hand at the small of Bucky’s back, fingers splayed wide, and Bucky can feel each one as a point of hear even through his coat. “Give me the tour?” Steve says and Bucky bites his chin in response.

“There’s only three rooms, smartass,” he says against Steve’s skin as the other man laughs, before tipping his head back to gesture with it. “Door on the left is the bathroom, door on the right is the bedroom.” Steve makes a noise like he's considering, then braces his hands under Bucky's thighs and carries him towards the door on the right.

Bucky hooks a hand at the back of Steve's neck and leans back a little as they approach, twisting the doorknob and letting them into his room. He glances around, covert, and almost sighs in relief to see that most of his clothes are at least tucked away rather than all over his bed. When he looks back at Steve, the man is smiling at him, one raised eyebrow saying he wasn't as covert as he thought. To distract him, Bucky pulls himself up and kisses Steve again, laughing softly as Steve's hands tighten, pull him closer. He lets Steve support his weight fully, starts shrugging out of his coat, and Steve gets with the plan in a few seconds, sets him down on the edge of his bed. A few moments later and the coat is hitting the ground, followed by Bucky’s shoes as he kicks them off.

Steve pulls his own coat off and it lands on top of Bucky’s, but then before Bucky can start on the buttons of his shirt Steve is catching his hands, pulling them away. “Let me?” he murmurs, barely a question, and Bucky nods, leans back on his hands.

Then Steve’s dropping to his knees, unbuttoning the front of Bucky’s shift slowly. As each section of cloth separated, he presses a kiss to the exposed skin, all the way down. When he gets to Bucky’s belly button, he rubs his nose against the skin just above it as Bucky tries to keep his breathing steady. Steve can tell it’s a ruse, of course he can, because the smile he sends up to Bucky has a glint of wickedness to it. Then Steve’s yanking the hem of his shirt out from Bucky’s pants, making him yelp, and pushing the material down Bucky’s arms. Bucky straightens to pull it over his wrists, and as he does, Steve lifts his head, presses another kiss to the underside of his jaw. The shirt gets discarded god-knows-where, and Bucky grabs at Steve’s shoulders, fingers digging in tight as Steve starts kissing his way back up. Steve's big hands frame his hips, slide up to his waist, and Bucky relaxes into it, murmurs Steve's name almost as an afterthought.

Steve nudges him higher into the bed and he lets himself be manhandled, eyes glazing a little at the way Steve barely reacts to his weight. It does something for him - knowing his partner can lift him with one hand, can make him do whatever he wants, and instead he's choosing to be gentle, almost worshipful. It's heady, and goes to his head far too quickly. Steve's hands have slid down to tug at the waistband of his pants and he falls back, arches up so Steve can pull the leather down over his hips.

He tugs, once, then freezes as he realises what Bucky's been hiding all night - a scrap of silk that barely covers anything, the same colour as Bucky's shirt.

Bucky can almost hear Steve swallow. "Wait ‘til you see the back," he says, stretching his arms over his head and sending a smile down to Steve. A moment later and it feels like he's flying before landing back on the bed with a thud. He pulls his knees up a little, too caught up in fabric to go further, and lifts his hips up, wiggles them a little in a silent temptation.

Steve groans behind him. That's the only warning he gets before the straps that make up the back of his panties are being pushed out of the way, and a warm mouth bites at the curve of one cheek.

"I'm clean," Bucky gets out, "Both ways." It's a silent request, and Bucky waits until Steve grinds out-

"Same." Steve’s quiet for a beat, and the only thing that’s moving is one of Steve’s hands, kneading gently. Bucky wiggles his hips again in invitation. “You want something?” Steve says, and his voice has dropped a little lower.

Bucky can take a hint. “Eat me out,” he says, “please, I want it.”

He’s barely finished speaking when thumbs press tight into his skin and tug, then a tongue tracks up over his hole. Soft kitten licks follow, like Steve’s just getting a taste of it, and each pass of his tongue makes Bucky melt further into the mattress, knees slipping wider and wider still. By the time Steve’s settled in, Bucky’s almost fully pressed to the bed, legs splayed wide, pants hanging off one leg and shoes flung to god-knows-where. One of Steve’s hands has slid under his hip, wrapped back over to hold Bucky’s hips in place, and it’s not until his fingers dig into Bucky’s ass that he realises he’s grinding back, begging with his body as much as he is with his voice. The whimpers fall out between gasps, and his thoughts are little more than a haze - all he knows is the curl of Steve’s tongue, the gentle drag of teeth. 

It feels like it’s been an hour when something different catches in his gut, and his attention centres on that, the tension curling around his spine, making him arch. “Steve,” he whines, and when he only gets a hum in return, he tries again, one hand reaching back to clutch at Steve’s hair. “Steve, I’m gonna come.”

That makes Steve pause, tongue half in his hole making him tremble. It withdraws to Bucky’s groan. “You wanna?” Steve rumbles, voice hoarse like he’s the one that’s been babbling.

Bucky’s grip tightens in Steve’s hair, and he bites out, “Please.”

Next, Steve’s breath fanning over wet skin and making his toes curl. “Can you, like this? Just like this?” He bites the curve of Bucky’s ass again, and Bucky’s cock jumps where it’s trapped between his belly and the bedsheets.

“Use your fingers,” Bucky manages, then buries his face in the comforter again, curls his toes against Steve’s sides.

Steve does.

Bucky comes with a sob about a minute and a half later, two fingers rubbing against his prostate, tugging down enough that Steve’s tongue can slide in alongside them. He shakes, tremors starting in his gut, cock jerking they spread through his body. An  _ oh _ gets pushed out of him as Steve’s fingers start rubbing again, dragging out the feeling while Steve’s other hands hold his hips still as Bucky instinctively tries to escape the pressure. The feeling is right on the edge of shifting notes and landing in pain when Steve pulls his fingers out, kisses Bucky’s hole one more time, then rubs the edge of his jaw against the skin of Bucky’s ass cheek.

The sudden change in sensations drives a whimper out of him more than the scratch of Steve’s beard. “Fuck,” he says on a breath, and Steve laughs in that low, pleased way that tells Bucky that he’s not done yet. 

The hands on his skin shift, then Bucky yelps as he gets flipped, landing in a boneless heap just to one side of where he’d been lying. He blinks at the ceiling, dazed, before refocusing his eyes on the figure at the end of the bed. Steve’s still dressed, down to the belt, but the hair in his beard is a mess, his hair is pulled to ends from Bucky’s fingers. His cheeks are red, eyes are bright, and Bucky realises a second later that he’s really in for it now. “Fifteen minutes,” he says after a second. “One to work out where up is, the rest to get my dick there,” he mumbles, and Steve laughs. Hands gentle on his ankle, freeing it from the last part of his pants that are still holding on, then Bucky says, “Take your shirt off,” and gives Steve his best begging expression. He’s not sure his expression is exactly what he’s aiming for, but he succeeds anyway, Steve picking at the buttons of his shirt until the material falls apart, shrugging it down his shoulders.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky says, brain-to-mouth-filter smashed to high heaven. Steve goes pinker, blush chasing down his throat before being hidden by the hair on Steve’s chest. 

“So are you,” Steve says, making no move to come over to him. Bucky lets his eyes track down to the telltale bulge in Steve’s pants. “Where’s your mouthwash, honey?”

Bucky blinks at the unexpected question, then smiles as he catches on. “Bathroom, mirror has a cupboard behind it.” He stretches out, wiggles his toes, and watches Steve swallow, nod, and disappear. He luxuriates for a moment more, then rocks up onto his side, half crawling half dragging himself up the bed until he can reach his bedside table. The movement makes him gasp as beard burn makes itself known on his ass, and he can’t help the pleased little smile as he stretches again, just to make the abused skin pull tight.

The tap in the bathroom runs, reminds him of what he was doing, and he leans over, pulls his lube out and drops it on the pillow next to him. That done, he reaches back, slides his fingers over his still-damp hole through the stretched-out straps at the back of his panties.

He doesn't stop when he hears footsteps, doesn't even look up until he hears the footsteps stop, and a soft groan comes from the other side of the room. "Can't wait a few minutes, huh," Steve says as he moves again, crosses the room in a handful of steps.

When he leans over him, Bucky reaches up with his free hand, curls it into the soft downy hair at the back of Steve's neck and pulls him down. Their mouths meet, and Steve tastes like mint. It's sweet, like so much of the night has been, and then Steve's tongue flicks into his mouth and he forgets that train of thought. "Pants," he says against Steve's mouth, and before he can grab at Steve's waistband the man is humming an agreement and tugging at Bucky's panties. He lets Steve slide them off, because yeah they were starting to get sticky, then hooks his fingers in Steve's belt loops and tugs. "Your turn, Rogers," he says with all the authority he can muster - not a lot, given the situation - and tugs again. Steve's eyes don't leave Bucky's body as he unbuckles his own belt, pulls it free.

Bucky rocks up onto his side, slides his hand over, and tugs at the button on Steve's jeans, getting it free with a bit of effort. He tugs down the zipper fly, goes to shove his hand in when Steve catches his wrist. Bucky pouts up at him for a second until he realises Steve is tugging the denim down and focuses on that instead.

Steve’s wearing plain black boxer-briefs, but Bucky can see the outline of his dick clearly, and has to swallow hard to stop himself from drooling. "Please," he says before he realises he's speaking, "Please let me suck you off." He's not sure it'll fit, but he wants to try.

Steve's breath hitches, then he laughs, pushes his jeans the rest of the way off and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear. 'If you want to," he says," I'm not gonna complain." Then he shoves his underwear down, and frees his cock. 

Bucky's always been of the belief that there's no such thing as a perfect cock, or even a pretty one, really. Steve proves him wrong. He whines low in his throat, twists until he's on his belly facing Steve, and says,"Please," again. His eyes are wide, and Steve must see something in him because a moment later, that pretty cock nudges at his lips. Bucky parts them, licks at the skin he can reach as Steve's groan reaches his ears. He grabs at it with one hand, curls his fingers around the base to hold it steady as he opens his mouth, wraps his lips around the head. Steve’s girthy, but not so much that Bucky can’t use his tongue - which he does, rolling it against velvety skin.

One of Steve’s hands drag into his hair, fingers grabbing at strands as the other lands on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky opens his eyes, lifts them up to Steve’s face, and hums when he sees Steve staring back down at him. He doesn’t use his grip, just hangs on, and Bucky’s never appreciated that more than when he tries to get more of Steve’s cock in his mouth, and has to force down the gag reflex. He slides down a little further, has to suppress the urge again, so he pulls back and laves attention on the head, using his hand on the bit he can’t reach. When he pulls off, Steve whines deep in his throat, but he holds still as Bucky runs his lips down the side of the shaft to mouth at Steve’s balls. Steve tugs at his hair a little, but it’s not demanding, more like he’s not able to stop himself. There’s a hitch in his breath, and when Bucky licks his way back down to shove as much as he can down his throat, Steve’s hips flex under Bucky’s hand, and he shudders.

He teases, little flicks of his tongue that Steve chases with his hips, slow drags of his lips, even the scrape of teeth right against the frenulum that pulls a moan from Steve, broken like he hadn’t meant for it to come out. “Baby,” Steve says a few moments later, scratchy, wanting. The hand on Bucky’s cheek slides down drags over Bucky’s stretched lips, makes  _ him _ shudder like he’s the one getting sucked off. “Buck,” he says, then gasps, hips hitching forward. “I’m gonna-”

Bucky redoubles his efforts. When Steve comes, he tenses up under Bucky’s palm on his stomach, curls forward a little. His hips rock forward ones, twice, then Steve shudders as bitter warmth fills Bucky’s mouth.Bucky pulls back a little so he can roll Steve’s balls in one hand, sucks like he needs Steve’s come to live, which - he’s never really  _ liked _ the taste of it, but it’s  _ Steve _ and that makes Bucky hot all over, hips rolling against the comforter just to try and relieve some pressure.

“Honey,” Steve gasps out a moment later, so Bucky pulls back, licks his lips before dropping a kiss to the head. He pushes up to his knees, keeping his mouth carefully closed, and once he’s upright, Steve’s dark eyes on his face, Bucky opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue. The come drips down onto his chin, and Steve makes a wounded noise right as Bucky pulls his tongue back, and makes a show of swallowing.

The hand in his hair pulls his head back - gentle, but firm - and Steve licks the dribble of come off Bucky’s chin, then drives his tongue into Bucky’s mouth like he’s chasing the taste of himself. Bucky can’t help the whine that escapes him when Steve bends him backwards, one hand around his waist supporting Bucky’s waist as he rocks backwards.

It’s smooth, smoother than Bucky’s ever been, and when he hits the mattress on his back, Steve is looming above him, pushing his way between Bucky’s thighs like he belongs there. He drops his head, and Bucky bites at Steve’s lower lip before kissing him. As Steve’s body settles over him fully, Bucky realises - “Steve,” he says against Steve’s mouth, “Steve are you - are you still hard?”

Steve hums, kisses him again before dropping his head to mouth at Bucky’s neck. “Yeah,” he says, then sucks a hickey nice and high on Bucky’s throat, leaving him gasping.

“Fuck me,” Bucky gets out, grabbing at Steve’s shoulders, short nails dragging against the wide expanse of Steve’s back. “I want it.” He’d been expecting downtime, hadn’t predicted all the ways Steve is  _ more _ than anyone else he’s ever been with. He hitches his legs up, squeezes his knees against Steve’s hips, grins as one of Steve’s hands drops to a thigh, grabs on tight.

Steve hums low in his throat, like he’s deciding whether or not to give Bucky what he wants. He hitches Bucky’s thigh higher, right up over Steve’s hip, and lifts his head to look at him before saying, low and pleased, “Yeah, you want it.”

Bucky flops a hand into the sheets, fumbling around until he finds the tube of lube that he’d dropped there. He hits plastic, grabs at it, then taps it against Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he says, though he can’t help the sound of protest when Steve lifts up off him again. The man between his legs shuffles forwards, pulls Bucky’s legs over his thighs so he’s splayed open, and pulls the cap off the lube with his teeth. He spits it to the side, running his free hand down Bucky’s front, then skirts past his cock to nudge his thighs wider.

“Look at you,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky arches up, preens a little, right up until the cool touch of a finger presses just behind his balls, drags down. He can’t help the gasp, then that finger rubs against his hole - still loose from Steve’s mouth even though the spit has since dried. That finger dips in, is quickly joined by another, and Bucky’s head rocks back as he moans with the stretch. Steve takes his time with it, rubs those fingers in, scissors them until he can fit a third, then just rocks them in and out while his other hand drags over Bucky’s stomach, his thighs, grab at his ass.

Bucky’s about to open his mouth, to hurry him up, then Steve quirks those fingers and drags the tips of his fingers over Bucky’s prostate, and the words die in his throat, emerging as a strangled moan. He reaches down, grabs onto Steve’s wrist, and just clings as Steve alternates between rubbing at his spot and tapping on it. While Bucky’s distracted, he adds another finger, and Bucky’s heels dig into Steve’s ass with no conscious decision of his own. “Now,” he gasps out, “please- _ please, _ ” and Steve makes a considering noise, splaying his four fingers wider inside Bucky before dragging them out, making him moan.

“D’you want a rubber?” Steve asks, and his voice is soft, serious despite the light in his eyes. Bucky shakes his head. Steve’s eyebrows go up, then he nods, leans back over Bucky to kiss him.

Bucky pushes up into the kiss, sliding his hands down Steve’s back to grab at his ass, breath speeding up at the press of Steve’s cock to his hip. For a minute that’s all Steve does - just kisses him hard and deep, tongue imitating what Bucky wants his hips to do. Then he pulls back, and Bucky plants a hand on Steve’s chest, digs his short nails in, and Steve takes the hint. The lube comes out again, then the blunt head of Steve’s cock is pressing against him, and Bucky forces himself to relax.

Steve pushes in that first inch, and Bucky’s eyes widen a moment before they slam shut, grabbing at Steve anywhere he can reach. He knew Steve was big, had him in his mouth, but it’s so much bigger like this, pressing into him. Steve pauses, hands stroking up and down Bucky’s sides, then at Bucky’s shaky nod, continues, splitting him open. He keeps going past where Bucky expects him to stop, and by the time their hips meet, Bucky feels stuffed full, is pretty sure he can feel Steve in his  _ throat _ . He moans, clenches, and Steve’s breath shudders out of him, but his hips stay completely still and Bucky’s never been patient when it comes to this, but he appreciates it now. Steve makes a soothing noise in the back of his throat when Bucky moans again, shakier, and his hands resume their paths over his skin until Bucky can breathe properly again.

He clenches again, just to hear Steve’s breath hitch, then says, “Okay.” Steve makes a questioning noise, so Bucky says it again, a little more confidently. That confidence evaporates when Steve grinds his hips in, rocks without pulling out, Each little movement pushes a noise out of Bucky, the soft little  _ uh, uh, uh _ s completely involuntary. Steve meets his gaze, must see something in there because he leans forward to kiss him again, licks Bucky’s mouth open before diving inside, and as he does, he pulls out a little, drives back in. “ _ Oh _ ,” is all Bucky can say, eyes flying open again, and he clings to Steve’s shoulders as Steve does it again, and again.

Steve’s strokes get longer, smoother, until he’s pulling almost all the way out, pushing back in with enough power to drag pleas from Bucky. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, dragging them over Steve's shoulders, clutching at the comforter, then grabbing back onto Steve’s sides, but Steve keeps moving, varying his speed when Bucky least expects it, pausing just to make Bucky whine before continuing.

He’s not sure how long he lasts, but when the head of Steve’s cock slides over his prostate on a well-positioned thrust, the coiling  _ want _ in his gut makes itself known. His breath hitches up, and up, and up, and Steve gives a pleased little rumble as he leans over, kisses the breath from Bucky’s lungs.

When he comes it’s sudden, the shock of it rendering Bucky completely silent for a heartbeat, two, before his whole body shudders. He grabs at Steve, whimpers his name, each thrust pushing him higher even that  _ want _ in him explodes into fragments.

He doesn’t black out, but it’s a close thing - mind going fuzzy as his body wins out, the unwinding between each thrust happening faster than the shove of Steve’s cock can wind him back up again. Steve’s got a hand on his hip, tight, and he’s almost grinding again, breath falling in little pants as he does. “Steve,” Bucky slurs out, each thrust sending a tinge of pleasure-pain through him. He doesn’t want this to stop, but he wants Steve to come  _ more _ . “Steve,” he says again, clearer, and Steve pauses for a second before starting again, almost hard enough to drive Bucky up the mattress even with Steve’s grip on him. “In me, come in me,” he begs, voice breaking on a particularly hard thrust, and Steve groans deep in his chest.

He speeds up, and just as Bucky’s about to hit the edge of  _ too much _ , Steve tenses, grinding little thrusts speeding up before stilling even as Steve’s hips flex. If Bucky focuses, he can feel the warm spreading, can feel the kick of Steve’s cock against his sensitive insides, and it makes him moan.

They stay there, panting, sweat cooling slowly, for a long moment before Steve lifts his head from where he’s ended up smooshed against Bucky’s shoulder. He’d caught his weight on his elbows, but there’s enough of him to keep Bucky pinned to the bed - exactly where he wants to be, if he’s honest.

When Steve sits up, strokes reverent hands down Bucky’s chest as he pulls out, Bucky can’t help the whine at the sudden emptiness. It doesn’t last long, three of Steve’s fingers pushing back in, rubs until Bucky’s eyes roll back up into his head. “Steve,” he whines, high pitched, and Steve relents, goes back to stroking his hands over Bucky’s body.

Bucky’s about to say something when something flickers in Steve’s gaze and he grabs Bucky’s hips, flips him onto his front without even a grunt of effort.

Bucky lands with a soft thump, starts to push up in confusion when he feels Steve’s hand against his ass, fingers prodding against his hole. Fingers pull away, only to be replaced with a tongue, and Bucky’s arms collapse under him, shaking.

He comes again - the waves of it shaking through him even as nothing comes out of his spent cock, by the time Steve’s happy with his clean-up job, then there’s the fluttering press of kisses up his spine, right up to the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky tips his head to the side, seeking, and Steve presses in for a kiss - manners from earlier gone. Bucky’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to move again.

Steve leaves kisses all over his body as Bucky catches his breath, and when he stirs Steve is there, helping him sit up, moving those little signs of affection to Bucky’s cheeks, his forehead. “Good?” Steve says, as if Bucky’s brains haven’t been leaking out of his ears for the past hour.

“Don’t get cute,” Bucky slurs out, and Steve laughs, pulls Bucky back against his chest.

“I meant,” Steve says, sounding far too alert considering what they’d just done. “Are you good? Do you need anything?”

Bucky blinks, then leans back into Steve. “Shower,” he says after a long moment of consideration. “New sheets. Water. You to do that to me every day for the rest of my life.”

Steve laughs, sifts, and pulls Bucky to his feet. “Big list,” he murmurs, kissing Bucky again. “Better get started.”

They’re in the shower less than a minute before Bucky slithers to his knees and gets his mouth back on Steve’s cock until he comes down his throat again.

When Bucky wakes, it’s to the all-over body ache that has him nearly purring. He stretches, gasps at the tug of well-used muscles, then rolls to his side, only for a spanner to be thrown in his good mood - the bed is empty.

He blinks, brain still catching up, but before he can come to any sort of conclusion the tap in the bathroom runs, turns off, then the bathroom door opens. A few seconds later and Steve’s coming back into the room, stepping over discarded clothes to reach the bed. He hesitates a second when he realises Bucky’s awake, but when Bucky opens his arms, Steve crawls back under the covers to kiss him deep. Steve tastes like mint. Bucky’s pretty damned sure he doesn’t.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs into the space between them when he pulls back.

“Hi,” Bucky says, a little dazed. Steve smiles. Bucky presses a finger to the corner of his mouth, drags it down over Steve’s lower lip. “Are we boyfriends now?”

The question tumbles out, and Steve’s hand - stroking through Bucky’s hair, making him all soft on the inside - stills for a second, then continues. “Do you want to be?”

Bucky nods, burrows his face in Steve’s chest to avoid looking him in the eye. He’s surprised when Steve says, “I want that, too,” and it must show on his face when he pulls back, because Steve says, “I really do.”

Bucky smiles, hope blooming in his chest at Steve’s words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Boyfriends?”

Bucky nods, leans up to kiss Steve silly. When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to murmur, “Boyfriends,” against Steve’s mouth before kissing him again.

When they surface a few moments later, Steve runs a big hand up Bucky’s side, and says, “Don’t” as Bucky starts to say “But I-” Steve nods to let Bucky go first, so Bucky blurts out, “But I’m not going to stop posting stuff on twitter,” then he winces and hides his face against Steve’s chest again to protect himself from his own big mouth. Steve’s hand cups his chin, tugs his head back up until their eyes meet again.

“I was gonna say, don’t stop on my behalf. It’s what you wanna do, it’s your body, do it for as long as it makes you happy.” He pauses, looking like he’s trying to decide whether to continue, so Bucky gives him the space to. “You don’t have to worry about money,” Steve says after a few moments of silence, “You don’t have to do it for money if you don’t want to. But this, us, shouldn’t get in the way of you doing something you enjoy.”

Bucky turns the words over in his mind, looking for any hint of resentment, any indication that this might be a lie - because it feels too good to be true. He can’t find anything. “I’ll still take plenty just for you,” he says at last. “Gotta make my guy feel special,” and Steve smiles at him, pulls him in for another kiss.

**

Their next date gets cancelled because of an alien invasion in South Australia, and it hits Bucky all over again just who he’s ended up dating. When Steve comes home, he arrives - dirty, bloody, with an arm in a splint still despite his healing - at Bucky’s front door, collapses into Bucky’s chest, and just breathes for a long moment before pulling back and kissing him hello. Bucky gets him into the shower, bundles him up in warm clothes, and, when Steve shakes his head at Bucky’s nudge towards the bedroom, Bucky pulls him to the couch, sits him down, and crawls carefully into his lap to cuddle him.

He’s better in the morning, splint coming off and his steps less careful. The darkness in his eyes is gone now too, replaced by an awed sort of fondness as Bucky makes him breakfast, bullies him gently into eating it, then drags him back to the couch for another cuddle session. 

It becomes almost an expectation after that, of Steve appearing at his door after a mission, whether it was good or bad. The good ones, Steve’s tired but alert, smiling, slipping dumb jokes into the conversations, and when they sleep he sleeps through the night. The bad ones though, they’re a whole other kettle of fish. Steve’s eyes are shadowed when he arrives, he barely speaks. Eats only when Bucky all but shoves it at him. On those days, Bucky cuddles up to him on the couch instead of trying to make him sleep, and Steve catnaps between episodes of whatever’s in Bucky’s netflix queue so the nightmares don’t reach him.

It’s humbling, Bucky realises, after Steve’s done it a few times. The trust Steve has in him - to keep him safe, to bring him back from wherever he goes after those bad missions - it’s almost too much. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead, where the man is pressed up against him on the couch, mid-catnap. Steve stirs, and Bucky hushes him with gentle noises until he drops off again, back to the light doze he usually gets on nights like this.

Bucky strokes his hair, and wonders what he’s going to do with the growing tenderness in his chest, the stuff that feels a lot like that four letter word he’s been avoiding for weeks.

  
  


**

Two months later, when Bucky picks Steve up from the private airport the Avengers use, the first thing he notices is that Steve looks tired. The first thing he  _ does _ is pull his man into a hug, lets him sag down and presses a kiss to the top of his head when Steve rests it on his shoulder, hunched over for a second until Bucky can almost hear Steve’s back protesting. “Welcome home, Steve,” he says, and Steve smiles one of the smiles where it doesn’t entirely reach his mouth, but the corners of his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches up a little. 

“S’good to be home, baby,” Steve says, and he sounds tired too, weariness pulling at his words.

“We can go home,” Bucky says immediately, catching Steve’s free hand and tangling their fingers together. He waves over Steve’s shoulder as some of the other Avengers pass - Steve’s friends, Sam and Natasha, and the insufferable one, Tony. They wave back, but don’t stop, Sam just pointing at Steve with an overexaggerated frown and Bucky nodding, giving him a thumbs-up in acknowledgement. “We don’t have to go, Becca will understand.”

Steve immediately shakes his head, cracks his jaw in a yawn that trails off into words. “No, I want to meet her, and give Allison her present.”

Bucky sighs, knowing there’s no way to out-stubborn Steve - he could drive them home, but Steve would just pout until he got his way, which would be pretty quickly if Bucky’s honest with himself. “Only if you nap in the car,” he bargains. “And tell me when you’re ready to tap out so we can get home.”

Steve nods, the picture of innocence - meaning, of course, that he wasn’t going to do at least one of those things.

Bucky shakes his head a little, but the fondness is trying to escape from where it lives somewhere in his chest. “Okay,” he says, or tries to say, because Steve steps in and cuts him off with a kiss. He sinks into it, into the curl of Steve’s tongue and the heat of his mouth, then it’s gone as suddenly as it arrived.

“Missed you,” Steve murmurs, rubbing their noses together, and that fondness gives another kick.

“Missed you more,” he says instead of what he wants to say, then pulls back, leads Steve out to the car.

Steve throws his bag in the back, climbs in, and waits for Bucky to settle in the driver’s seat before leaning over the console and kissing him again, soft and quick. “Go to sleep,” Bucky says, before catching his chin and kissing him right back. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Steve hums, reclines his seat a little more, then a moment later he’s out like a light, slumped against the door. Bucky shakes his head, starts the car, and pulls out of the park.

Steve stirs as Bucky slows in his sister’s neighbourhood forty minutes later, blinking blearily. Bucky reaches over, rubs Steve’s thigh lightly as he finds a place to park on the already-packed street.”We’re here,” he says, even though Steve’s already alert, pulling his seatbelt off. They climb out, and Bucky points to a house a few doors up with balloons hanging off the mailbox. He adds, “You ready?” with a smile as Steve glances around.

“A lot of people,” Steve says, voice a little hoarse after his nap.

“Big family,” Bucky counters, walking around to take Steve’s hand, “Still okay?” Steve nods, so Bucky pulls him in and bounces up onto his toes to kiss his chin. “Let’s go then.” He leads the way down the street, up the three steps onto the front porch. The front door is unlocked but Bucky knocks before pushing it open, pulling Steve inside.

The chatter of three-year-olds fills the air, and the murmuring of their parents. Bucky heads down the hall, Steve on his heels, and he sticks his head into the living room to see if they’re in there. The big french doors at the back of the room are open, and kids run around on the porch outside, parents in chairs on the lawn.

“Bucky!” he hears the screech before he sees his niece, but then a tiny body barrels her way towards him, and Bucky scoops Allison up to give her a hug and a big, loud kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday baby girl,” he says as she giggles, “How old are you now? Twelve?”

The giggling continues, and she holds up four fingers, then says “I’m three!” She then notices Steve behind him and waves over his shoulder, before saying, “Who are you?”

Steve must come closer, because there’s suddenly a hand on Bucky’s back. “I’m Steve, I heard it was a special day so I had to come say hello.”

Allison squints, then evidently decides Steve is telling the truth because she says, “It’s my birthday,” with all the seriousness a three-year old can muster.

It’s at that moment when Bucky’s sister comes following after her toddler, smiling when she sees them. “Happy birthday,” he hears Steve say as he gives his sister a one-armed hug, kissing her cheek.

“Glad you could make it,” she says quietly, before flicking her eyes over to Steve. “Hey, you must be Steve, I’m glad to finally meet you.” She steps around Bucky, gives Steve a smile. Bucky finds himself relaxing a little, and Steve does the same behind him, bumping Bucky’s shoulder with his arm.

“It’s good to meet you too,” he says, “Good to put a face to a name.”

The small talk takes them outside, and none of the other parents stare too much, thankfully. Allison loves the additions to her play set, running back to her friends with them held tight in her hands. 

An hour later, and Bucky can feel Steve fading. He hasn’t said anything about it yet, but the arms around his waist are loosening a little, and the weight of Steve’s head, where his chin is resting on the top of Bucky’s head, is getting heavier. Bucky doesn’t want to disturb him, keeps rubbing his thumb over the back of one of Steve’s hands as he talks with his aunt. There’s a soft creak as the railing behind them takes a little more weight, then Steve’s breaths even out against his back. That fondness in his chest bursts free, filling his chest, making him melt further into Steve’s arms.. His aunt winks, says, “He’s out, isn’t he?” and Bucky can’t help but laugh, keeping it quiet.

“Yeah, he’s had a long day. I’ll let him sleep a bit then get him home.”

She smiles back, then says, “He loves you too, you know,” and it makes Bucky freeze. “It’s true,” she says, clearly reading something in his expression that he can’t put a name to. Panic, maybe. “You’re both smitten, it’s sweet.”

“How did, how did you-” he stumbles over his words, keeping himself still so he doesn’t wake his sleeping boyfriend. 

“The look on your face just now,” she says, “And the fact that he’s here at all, despite his trip” Bucky sighs.

“I didn’t think it’d be obvious,” he mumbles, and she laughs, not unkindly.

“You’ve always been easy to read, Bucky. Now, I’d better go help your sister before she drops that.” She hurries off, and Bucky glances over to see Becca struggling with an armful of dessert dishes bound for the adult table.

It leaves him alone with his thoughts, and after a second he pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens the camera. A couple of snaps, and he relaxes deeper into Steve’s arms as he taps out a caption to a picture that has Steve’s face hidden enough that it’s not clear who he is.

_ When your bf falls asleep at your 3yo niece’s birthday party bc he just got off a 20hr flight but he still wanted to come, and you realise you’re in l*ve with him. _

He hesitates a moment, then hits tweet. Five minutes later, he’s nudging Steve awake, making their goodbyes before bundling up his sleepy boyfriend into the car and taking them home. He’ll tell Steve in the morning, he resolves. No point in bringing it up now.

Bucky wakes up slow, still cocooned in warmth. He hums, pleased, and there’s the soft rumble of Steve stirring behind him. A big hand flexes on his belly, and Bucky drops one of his own, curling it over Steve’s until their fingers link. Steve stretches behind him, making their bed shake a little until he relaxes again. There’s the sound of a yawn, then Bucky wakes up enough to remember what he has to do.He’d thought, way back when, that in this moment he’d be full of dread, have fear pulling at him, but all he feels is peace, is that four-letter word that he needs to tell Steve.

He twists, slow enough that Steve can move his arms, keep them close until Bucky settles again, facing Steve. Hey,” he says, and Steve smiles - first with his eyes, then it spreads until his lips curl up too.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Steve says, still scratchy with sleep. He’s beautiful. His hair’s a mess, beard pushed all over his face from the pillow, he’s got a few strands of Bucky’s hair clinging to his nose that Bucky gently brushes away, but he’s still the most beautiful thing Bucky’s ever seen.

It spills out of him then, in an uncoordinated rush. “I love you.” Steve freezes under his hands, but Bucky barrels on, in too deep now. “You’re smart, funny, you make me smile and I’ve never felt safer than I do with you.” He brushes back the hair that’s flopped down over Steve’s forehead. “You’re so - you’re so good, so kind, and I know it’s only been a few months, but it’s you - how can I do anything but be in love with you?”

Steve comes to life under his hands with each word, muscles relaxing, eyes gleaming bright. When Bucky’s voice stumbles to a stop, Steve’s hand comes up, traces the edge of Bucky’s jaw, then moves up to cup his cheek. “Buck,” he says, and it’s so - so  _ soft _ , barely a breath. “ _ Buck _ .” Steve tugs him forward, and Bucky’s helpless to do anything but go, drown in the kiss that Steve gives him. It’s only a moment, then Steve’s pulling back, pressing their foreheads together until they’re breathing the same air. “I’ve been in love with you for weeks,” he says, breathless.   


“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky says, shoving his fingers up into Steve’s hair and pulling him in for another kiss.

“I was waiting for you to catch up,” Steve says, then rolls them both until Bucky’s sprawled over his chest. He can see it now, the glow to Steve’s face, the light in his eyes, the love shining through. “I love you,” Steve says, and Bucky has to kiss him after that.

Ten am finds Bucky face down on the bed, limbs turned to jelly, sweat cooling on his skin. Steve’s dumped the washcloth off the side of the bed, pressed himself back up along Bucky’s side, and he’s got his phone out - checking for messages, like he usually does a hell of a lot earlier than this. Bucky turns his head to face him, pillowed on his hands, and basks in the ache of muscles and the flare that is the bruises Steve’s lips have left in his skin.

Steve goes very still next to him, and Bucky’s eyes open fully, brows pulling down before Steve says anything. Then Steve’s turning his phone around and - The Tweet. The one from last night. It’s nearing 30k likes, and almost half-again as many comments. “You told  _ twitter _ before you told me?” he says, clearly trying for outrage - he’s too well-sated to get anywhere close.

“I told you,” Bucky says, hedging. “When I got you to the car. But you were out to it, so I had to tell  _ someone _ .”

Steve blinks. “So you told thirty  _ thousand  _ people?”

Bucky pauses, then says, “yeeees,” dragging the word out. “It was a big feeling. Overwhelming ev-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss, phone tossed to the side. 


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're getting subscription alerts for this, please note i posted two chapters today - this epilogue and teh chapter before. If you haven't read chapter two, jump back before you spoil yourself :)

Christmas comes along. Bucky's visiting his parents in Indiana, so he and Steve make plans for when he gets back. Even so, on Christmas day he tweets his customary "all I want for Christmas" tweet, then sends it to Steve in a DM. 

_ All I wanted for Christmas was Steve Rogers #CantAlwaysGetWhatYouWant _

Steve likes the tweet, then calls him, laughing. They don't stay laughing for long, especially when Steve tells Bucky to put his hands between his legs, and Bucky obeys without question.

He's late to breakfast the next morning. His mother takes one look at him and says, "Bring him next time, alright?" 

**

One year later, Steve proposes.

They're walking through Prospect Park after Bucky made a fool of himself at the ice rink, one of Bucky's hands tucked in the pocket of Steve's coat, fingers linked with Steve's. Steve's leading him somewhere and Bucky would follow him anywhere, so he's not asking questions for once, just staying tucked up against Steve's side.

The snow crunches under their feet as Steve pulls him off the track, up into the concert grove. It's empty - no one performing this late in the year - and quiet. Steve pulls him down a handful of stairs and into the grove proper. The snow hasn't been beaten down by feet here even on the paths, so their steps disturb the snow and it kicks up around their ankles, clinking to their shoes and pants.

Steve slows to a stop near the pavilion, and Bucky stops with him. It's not the strangest place Steve has taken him on a whim - either chasing a memory or scouting for a new place to draw - so he settles into his boots and prepares to wait Steve out. He'll explain eventually.

When Steve turns to face him, Bucky does the same, raising an eyebrow. Then, Steve's free hand is pulling out of his other pocket, and he's dropping to one knee. The box in his hand opens, and - that's a big rock. Polished to a shine, beautifully cut, and clearly  _ expensive _ .

"Say it," Bucky says, and he's proud that his voice only shakes a little.

Steve licks his lips. "I'm so damned lucky that I get to wake up to you, to come home to you, and I want to do it for the rest of my life. I love you more than words could ever express, and there's nothing I want more than to be at your side. Will you make me the happiest man history has ever seen, and do me the honour of marrying me?"

Bucky's moving before Steve even finishes, crossing the step between them and hitting his knees. He falls into Steve, and Steve catches him, then presses up into an urgent kiss, shoving everything he doesn't know how to say into the action. By the time Bucky pulls back, Steve's leg has started to shake, so Bucky puts him out of his misery, grabbing the lapels of Steve's coat. "Steve, yes, a thousand times  _ yes _ !" 

There's a sound that sounds a lot like relief, then big arms are wrapping around him, pulling him in tight. Their foreheads touch, then their noses, then their mouths, and Steve kisses him slow, steady, and absolutely wondering. When he pulls back, he brings one hand around, offers up that little box and it's prize, and Bucky tugs the ring from its setting. Steve drops the box then, takes Bucky's hand, and slides the ring into place. It fits perfectly - not that he'd expect anything else from Steve. He presses in for another kiss, shivers as the cold finally seeps through the legs of his pants, then Steve's pulling them upright, grabbing the empty box on the way. "Let's get you warmed up," Steve says, and Bucky knows exactly what Steve has in mind.

  
  


A few days later, and Bucky's managed to buy the ring he'd been looking at for Steve. Steve hasn't taken it off yet, not even when he has to go in to work, and it makes Bucky almost glow with pride. He's sitting on the couch, working through a novel Steve likes, when he comes up with another idea for a photo. He checks the time, then heads for their bedroom. 

He pulls on Steve's favourite pair of panties, checks to make sure they survived their last encounter with Steve's hands, then pulls on thigh-high black socks. His ring catches the light and he smiles, goes looking for his favourite white skirt.

The pleats hang evenly from his waist after a bit of a shake, and he sets his phone up on its tripod, settles himself on the bed -  _ their _ bed. Bucky takes a few snaps like that, knees folded under him, hand on his thigh to show off his ring, then he sends one to Steve and sits back. A few more shots with his legs up, material falling away to hint at what's under them, then he sends one of them to Steve as well. A few moments later, Steve texts back,  _ on my way _ . 

Bucky laughs, replies  _ you can take a picture with me first  _ and Steve sends him a picture from his helmet cam, of the road in front of him slightly blurred from the speed Steve's going. Twenty minutes later and he can hear the roar of Steve's bike outside. Five minutes after that, the front door opens, slams shut, locks again. Steve can move quietly when he wants to, despite his bulk, but this is not one of those times. Every footstep echoes through their home, Steve's riding boots heavy against the wooden floor of the hall, and Bucky can track exactly where his man is - which is usually Steve's intention.

He goes to the kitchen, and Bucky hears the water run, stop, run, stop again. The clink of a glass being set in the sink, then footsteps again, making a beeline for their bedroom. 

Bucky leans back on his hands, brings one knee up, and tips his head to the side. He left the door open, so after a moment a shadow appears in the doorway, resolving into Steve as the light finally hits him. "Hi," Bucky says, wiggling his toes. "Grab my phone on your way past, please?"

"What are you wearing, honey?" Steve says instead of a greeting, pulling Bucky's phone free as he all but prowls towards the bed. "Are you trying to make me combust at work? I ran out of that meeting like my ass was on fire."

Bucky smiles, takes his phone, then grabs Steve's hand and pulls him down for a kiss. "You're not supposed to have your phone out in those," he counters, running a hand down Steve's chest, then pulling at the fastenings of his bike jacket. "I know how I wanna tell my twitter people," he adds, then wiggles his left hand so the Rock catches the light. "But I want you in the photo."

Steve hums, like he always does when Bucky asks him to be in a photo, then relents without protest, like he always does. "What do you have in mind?"

Bucky tells him. Steve strips out of his gear, then further, pulling the tight under armour shirt off and leaving his pants as they are. He crawls up onto the bed, drags his hands up the smooth socks covering his legs, slides his fingers up the sides of Bucky's skirt. He makes a wounded noise when he realises what Bucky's wearing under the skirt, but Bucky places a hand on his chest and says, "Picture first," so he pulls his hands back.

Once Bucky's arranged comfortably, Steve leans forward and places his left hand on Bucky's knee. He slides it up Bucky's thigh a little, then opens the camera app on Bucky's phone and starts snapping.

After a dozen or so pictures he hands the phone back, and Bucky goes through them carefully. "Got it," Bucky says, showing Steve his screen. It's both Bucky's favourite of the lot, and the one that hits all the elements he wants in the photo - Bucky looking up at Steve with dark eyes, a knowing little smile flirting at the corners of his mouth. The pose is almost demure considering - the skirt bunched up at free top of Bucky's raised thigh but not revealing anything, Steve's hand - and ring - front and centre, Bucky's ring catching the eye at Bucky's side.

Steve nods, takes the phone again, and shoves the skirt higher as he takes a couple more photos just because he's cheeky, but Bucky knows he'll be sending those pictures to Steve before the day is over. Then, he sets the phone down, and Bucky pulls him into a kiss, unable to wait any longer.

**

  
Bucky posts the picture on Christmas eve a week later, instead of his usual Christmas thirst tweet. He captions it  _ sometimes you get what you wish for _ , and Steve retweets it to the official Captain America account before turning off his phone and leaning back over Bucky to kiss him, hands chasing the little shivers still running through Bucky’ body. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacebck)


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